


The Boy Cries

by Bunnywest (orphan_account)



Series: The Boy. [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Fisting, Dark Peter Hale, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Painful Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slave Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11607975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: “Say it”“Thank you Master, I like it”





	The Boy Cries

**Author's Note:**

> Things are not getting any better for our poor boy. I'm sorry. There's absolutely no excuse for this. "Hangs head in shame*

The boy cries when he realises that Master is going to wax him again.

He cries as once again the hair is pulled out. Sometimes Master doesn’t rip the strips off quickly, but pulls them off agonizingly slowly, stretching the tender skin, trying to make him bleed a little.

“We’ll be doing this every three weeks, I don’t like a messy slave” he tells Stiles.

“Say it”.

“Thank you master, I like it” the boy says as he breathes through the pain.

He cries when Master applies lotion to the area around his balls, because it stings and burns. “They say not to use an astringent on freshly waxed skin, but it tightens it up nicely” Peter says, with a cruel glint in his eye.

Then he presses his into the mattress and fucks him until he bleeds, once again.

 

* * *

 

He cries for every one of the tattoos, but the one across his ribs is the worst.

Master does the work himself, tying him down so he can’t move. There’s no reprieve from the relentless pain of the tiny needles and the boy thinks the constant buzzing will drive him mad.

 At the end of it, he has four long jagged lines running down his side in the shape of claw marks, a mirror of the scars on his face. Master’s pleased with his work, and rubs his hands firmly over the new ink, just to see the boy whimper and flinch.

“Say it”

“Thank you Master, I like it”

“You’re very lucky I like you Stiles, that’s why I’m willing to spend my time making you better” Peter tells him.

The boy nods, because he hasn’t been given permission to speak.

He’s tired, but he’s not allowed to sleep yet. Master keeps him tied there while he inspects him.

“How old are you now, boy?”

“I….I don’t know master? Still thirteen?”

It seems the safest answer.

Peter makes a humming noise. “I’ve had you almost a year, so I don’t think so. You’re growing, I don’t like it”.

The boy remains silent – there’s no reply to that.

A year?

In the end Peter shrugs, and says “Still small enough for now, so I may as well enjoy it while I can” and unties him, and presses him down into the mattress, onto the freshly inked skin, and works his hand into the boy’s ass roughly.

The boy cries and pants and sobs, and it makes his Master happy, and that’s the only thing, to keep him happy, because the alternative is terrifying.

The boy knows there are a lot of things in the room they haven’t played with yet.

 

* * *

 

The boy cries and cries the first time Peter parts his legs and slides a knob of something round and spicy smelling inside him.

It takes a moment, but then the ginger starts to burn, and he rolls around on the bed trying to get away instinctively. Master hasn’t told him to stay still or be quiet, so he begs for mercy and screams as Master slides his fingers in and nudges the ginger root further inside, causing a fresh wave of agony.

He leaves it inside for long minutes, watching and humming to himself, obviously enjoying the sight.

He tells the boy he’s being punished for not being tight enough last time Master fucked him, and that if he can’t learn to clench his hole better, he’ll be punished every time.

Finally, Master puts two fingers in each side of the boy’s hole and stretches it wide, and instructs him to push it out.

The boy didn’t think it was possible, but it hurts worse going out that it did going in. He finally manages to expel the object and lays there, panting, but Peter’s not finished yet. He stretches the boy’s hole out again, inspecting it, and when he finds what he’s looking for, a cluster of not quite healed tears, he rubs the ginger against the wounds.

The boy screams.

Master smiles happily.

“You do make such pretty sounds” he tells him.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy does not learn to clench tightly enough.

Master’s angry already, sweeping into the room and ordering “hands and knees, now” and pointing to the floor.

The boy knows it’s going to be rough if he’s not even allowed on the bed.

Master’s already fisted him raw this morning, and he realises with a feeling of dread that he’s still loose. He tries to clench, but his muscles are refusing to respond. It’s too soon, he thinks desperately, but he tries anyway.

Master grabs him and slams in, fucking him hard and fast, and the boy thinks maybe he doesn’t care, maybe he hasn’t noticed, and he tries to stay quiet and still and tighten up as much as he can in the hope of getting through this unscathed. He doesn’t think he can take the ginger again.

He feels Master press forwards hard and come inside him, and breathes again. It must have been good enough.

 

It wasn’t.

 

Master pulls out, and then slides four fingers into him, pulling this way and that, releasing a trickle of pink stained come onto the floor.

“Lick that up, you loose bitch” he snaps.

The boy quickly does as he told, careful not to show any hesitation.

“Now stay like that, don’t move” Master tells him, so he stays, chest pressed against the floor, ass presented in the air, legs spread so he’s on display.

Master prods at his leaking ass, stretching it as wide as he can, and muttering about the sheer laziness of slaves these days.

The boy cries in despair.

Master ties him to the bench and uses the cane on his back and legs and feet until he’s nearly passed out from the pain, all the while telling him that if he wasn’t so lazy this wouldn’t be happening.

And then he whips his asshole until the pucker is swollen, puffy and bleeding. The boy does pass out then.

When he comes back to consciousness, Master is fucking him again.  He immediately tries to clench, and his muscles must respond, because Master tells him “See? You’re quite capable when you want to be”.

He comes with a grunt and a sigh, and pulls out quickly.

 

The boy heaves a sigh of relief. It wasn’t so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day Master come in smiling.

“Did you know I’ve been fucking you for a whole year today? Congratulations, none of my other slaves have lasted this long”.

He inspects his ass.

“Still not _very_ tight, are we? I think I can help you with that.”

The boy barely dares to breathe.

He tells him “It’s not _all_ your fault, pet. I’ve used you too much, and your poor hole needs a break.”

 “I just find it so hard to resist. So I’ve worked out how to give you a rest and tighten you up all at once. You just have to stay very, very still while I do this, because I don’t want to do permanent damage - who wants a damaged slave?”

The boy starts crying even before he knows what’s going to happen.

“Settle down boy, it will only take a minute” Peter scolds him.

He ties the boy down, strapping his ankles to a spreader bar and propping him up so that his ass is presented and he can’t move.

Then he leaves the room, and comes back with a curved needle and medical grade cotton.

“Cross over or purse string, I wonder?’ he muses to himself.

The boy has an awful suspicion forming in his mind, and he starts hyperventilating.

Master slaps him across the face, telling him “Enough. I haven’t done anything yet.”

The boy takes a deep breath, and tries to stay in control.

The sting of the needle as it pierces the tender skin of his anus feels like fire. The needle moves in and out, in large stitches, all the way around.

The boy screams and cries and Master ignores him.

He does a single long purse sting stitch all the way around the boy’s lax hole. The boy is a wreck by now.

Then he pulls the ends tightly together, and ties them.

He sits back, and looks at his handiwork, satisfied.

“24 hours and you should be as good as new, and this will remind me that you need a break. It’s a present for your anniversary” he says, happily.

The boy is in near hysterics from the pull and burn, and he can’t move because of the spreader bar.

“Say it“ Peter commands him.

But Stiles just….can’t.

Words are beyond him, and he starts to thrash against his bonds, panicking wildly.

He doesn’t know what happens, but the next time he’s aware of anything Peter has rolled him to his side and removed the bar and the rest of his restraints.

He’s wiping his face with a cool cloth, and once he sees Stiles is awake, he leans in and looks at his face intently.

“I’ll let you away with not thanking me this once, since it’s our anniversary. I gave you the day off as a present, but you don’t seem to appreciate it. Should I take the stitches out early?”

“N-no mas-mas- master” he manages.

Peter’s satisfied, and tells the boy how lucky he is that Peter hasn’t sold him to a brothel by now, he certainly wouldn’t get a day off there.

The boy spends the next 24 hours sobbing into his blankets and wondering what will happen when the stitches come out.

It’s 24 hours to the minute when Master snips the end of the string and pulls it out in one swift motion.

It burns, and the boy cries.

But when Master fucks him he’s tight again, and Master is happy, and that’s all that matters.

 

* * *

 

The time the boy cries the hardest is when Master stands him in front of a mirror  and orders him to look at all his improvements.

His nipples have silver bars. His cock has a PA.

His body is littered with markngs, each one carefully and deliberately placed.

Scars, claw marks ,a patch of crosshatched patterning from a scalpel on both of his shoulders, and of course, the tattoos.

He sports a back covered in tribal designs, patterns that Peter has worked into his skin over the course of their time together.

He has the claw marks on his side.

He has the P Hale on his thigh.

The four claw marks in his face stand out starkly against his pale skin.

Master says his handiwork is beautiful, and tells the boy to thank him for everything.

The boy cries.


End file.
